Ming Tea Murder

by Laura Childs

  “Not just watching, but investigating,” said Theodosia.

  “Keeping an eye on her every move,” said Haley.

  “If you ask me,” said Drayton, “I think Cecily knows something. That’s why someone tried to kill her.”

  “What do you think she knows?” said Haley.

  Drayton fingered his bright pink bow tie. “It’s still unclear.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with Edgar Webster?” said Theodosia. “Or his company?” Theodosia knew there was the IPO to consider. She was sure that, at the start of business tomorrow, the IPO would be rammed through. Could Cecily somehow have a role in that? Well . . . maybe.

  “Yes,” said Drayton. “Cecily might possibly know something about Webster’s company, some proprietary business secret. What’s the company name . . . Datrex? That would be my guess, too.”

  They batted around theories for a few more minutes, then Haley retreated to her kitchen and Theodosia and Drayton got to work on the tea shop. Even though the Titanic Tea didn’t kick off until five o’clock, they wanted to get things rolling. They started by draping starched white linen tablecloths across all the tables, and then put out the good crystal along with a set of antique Gorham sterling silver flatware in the Baronial Old pattern.

  Haley had found photos depicting the Titanic leaving the dock at Southampton, as well as photos of some of the first-class passengers, and those had been blown up into posters and were now hung on the walls. And Drayton had brought in his personal collection of Royal Crown Derby English bone china, so that had to be unpacked and laid out carefully.

  “It’s looking good,” said Theodosia as she placed bouquets of white lilies in the center of all the tables.

  “Wait until you see what else I cooked up,” said Drayton.

  “Show me.” Theodosia wasn’t gung ho on surprises. Or waiting. She was an immediate-gratification type of gal.

  Drayton ducked behind the counter and pulled out a large white box.

  “What little trick do you have up your sleeve?” Now her curiosity had really been tweaked.

  He popped the lid and tilted it toward Theodosia so she could take a peek.

  “Oh my.”

  “I took the liberty,” said Drayton, looking a little smug. He set the box down on the counter and pulled out a stack of white paper napkins emblazoned with the ubiquitous White Star Line logo. “First of all, monogrammed napkins from our friendly stationery store down the street.”

  “That monogram certainly lends a touch of authenticity,” said Theodosia. “Our guests will be looking around for the lifeboats.”

  Drayton held up a finger. “Ah, but there’s more.” He dug into his box again and pulled out a small white ship, about ten inches long, with the White Star logo on its bow. “Actually, there are ten more ship models, to serve as proper décor for our tables.”

  “They’re perfect. Well, maybe a little eerie, too.”

  “And I know you’re not a fan of paper placemats,” said Drayton. “But you might change your mind when you see these.” He handed her a stack of placemats that were basically reproductions of the front page of the London Herald. The headline screamed “RMS Titanic Sinks” and depicted an antique etching of the ship.

  Theodosia fingered them. “These are fantastic. You are so clever.”

  “And one last thing,” said Drayton. He pulled out a small black tea tin. “Our friends at Harney and Sons created this lovely Titanic Tea. I wish I could say they made it just for us, but they’ve been offering it for quite some time.”

  Theodosia grinned as she studied the elegant black tea tin that featured the doomed Titanic ship surrounded by a gold porthole motif. “This is just fantastic.” She balanced the tea tin in her hand. “Favors for our guests?”

  Drayton nodded. “Everything but the icebergs.”

  “You really did it. You came up with a unique themed tea that actually works for Halloween. It’s not spooky, but it certainly is haunting.”

  Drayton beamed. “And isn’t that the whole idea?”

  • • •

  When Theodosia stepped into the kitchen to check on Haley, she was bombarded by a medley of enticing aromas coming from the stove, as well as English tea bread and éclairs baking in the oven.

  “It smells like a genuine restaurant in here,” Theodosia smiled.

  Haley looked up from her stovetop. “Even though we’re only working out of a postage stamp-size kitchen?”

  “You’re the one who said she doesn’t ever want to move to a larger space.”

  “No, and neither does Drayton. We love it right here. Besides, I like walking to work.” Haley now lived upstairs, in the apartment above the tea shop, where Theodosia had once lived. It was convenient, to say the least.

  “I want to thank you for working today,” said Theodosia. “I know you usually like to spend Sundays with your friends.”

  “Or reading in bed,” said Haley. She grinned impishly, and added, “With my friends.”

  “Too much information,” boomed Drayton. He was standing in the doorway, trying to muster a haughty demeanor. “Or, as your generation likes to say, Haley, TMI.”

  “Drayton’s gettin’ down,” laughed Haley. “Pretty soon he’s gonna turn hipster on us. He’ll start dressing all in black and wear narrow ties. Maybe even affect a pork pie hat à la Justin Timberlake.”

  “Never,” said Drayton.

  “Do you even know who I’m talking about?” asked Haley.

  “No,” said Drayton. “And I don’t care to know.”

  “Come on,” Theodosia teased, getting into the act. “You can’t tell me you don’t sneak a peak at MTV once in a while. I happen to know you subscribe to cable TV.”

  “I capitulated only because I enjoy history and nature programs,” said Drayton. And with that, he turned and disappeared.

  “We tease him too much,” said Theodosia.

  “I don’t think we tease him enough,” replied Haley. She grabbed a large stainless steel bowl filled with sliced cucumbers.

  “We kind of need to talk about the funeral luncheon tomorrow,” said Theodosia.

  “What are your thoughts on that?” asked Haley as she added a handful of fresh herbs.

  “I suggested to Charlotte that we keep the menu fairly simple. Perhaps a salad or fruit plate, scones, and an assortment of tea sandwiches.”

  “Easy peasy. I could do a citrus salad, honey scones, and maybe three different tea sandwiches. Like . . . chicken and green goddess, cream cheese with crushed walnuts, and roast beef with thinly sliced Cheddar cheese. And maybe a dessert. What do you think?”

  “It all sounds perfectly lovely. Can you get everything you need first thing tomorrow?”

  “I’ll make out my list this afternoon and e-mail it in. That way I can do morning tea and still get an early morning grocery delivery. Oh, what time do you think the luncheon guests will start arriving?”

  “The funeral’s set for ten,” said Theodosia. “So I’m guessing everyone will start staggering in around eleven fifteen.”

  “Hmm, maybe we should just put a sign on the door that says CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY?”

  “You mean not be open for morning tea?” said Theodosia.

  “Otherwise things could get a little sticky.”

  “You make a good point,” said Theodosia. She thought for a few moments. “Okay, let’s do that. We’ll be closed for our private party until one o’clock. Then we’ll open for afternoon tea.”

  “Works for me,” said Haley.

  Theodosia pursed her lips. “Now let’s just hope it works for Drayton.”

  • • •

  But Drayton was fine with the arrangement.

  “A smart idea,” he said. “That way we won’t have two different groups to contend with.”

  “And we can attend t
he funeral,” said Theodosia.

  “You can attend the funeral,” said Drayton. “I’ll remain here to make sure everything is prepped and readied.”

  “And beat off any morning customers.”

  “Well . . . maybe we could accommodate our regulars with a scone and a cuppa to go?”

  “I figured that’s what you’d do,” said Theodosia.

  “What kind of tea does Charlotte want served to her guests tomorrow?”

  “She said she’d leave the choice up to you.”

  “A wise decision.” Drayton gazed at his floor-to-ceiling wall of tea tins and squinted. “I’m almost thinking the Sewpur Estate Assam. And perhaps an English breakfast tea. Both are a trifle bracing, which might be just the thing for a post-funeral luncheon. But I do want to noodle my choices around.”

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Theodosia and Drayton turned toward the front door.

  “Door,” said Drayton.

  “I hope it isn’t an early guest,” said Theodosia. She crossed the tearoom and peered through a sliver of wavering glass. It was Bill Glass.

  “Glass,” she said.

  “Don’t let him in,” said Drayton. “Just ignore him.”

  But Theodosia was already unlatching the door. “The thing is, he might know something.”

  “What’s up?” she asked, as Glass came crashing into the tea room. With his bulky photojournalist vest and cameras strung around his neck, he really was the proverbial bull in a china shop.

  “Can you believe this latest turn of events?” asked Glass. He was practically chortling with excitement. “First Webster is killed, then his ex-girlfriend is attacked! This is shaking out to be a very crazy scenario.”

  “I don’t think it’s crazy at all,” said Theodosia. “In fact, the scary thing is, it sounds like there’s a master plan.”

  “Sure, but who’s the mastermind?”

  Theodosia shrugged. “There’s the clincher. That’s what we’re all trying to figure out.”

  “So you guys haven’t heard anything new?” asked Glass.

  Drayton leaned forward, an inquisitive look on his face. “No. Have you?”

  “Ah . . . I’ve been trying to pry some details out of a few cops I know,” said Glass. “But they’ve been fairly closemouthed about this whole thing.” He peered at Theodosia. “You haven’t spoken to Cecily, have you?”

  “Not today, no,” said Theodosia. She didn’t feel like telling Glass that she’d talked to Cecily just after the attack, that she’d actually rushed to the scene of the crime.

  “What I’m gonna do,” said Glass, “is maybe snoop around the museum some more.”

  “You know Max is on leave,” said Theodosia.

  “Yeah,” said Glass, “because he’s a suspect.”

  “But he’s innocent,” Theodosia said hastily, her voice carrying a little bit of a tone.

  “Of course he is,” Drayton echoed.

  Glass gazed at them mildly, as if he didn’t want to interrupt his thought process. “And then I’m gonna circle back here and get a few snaps of your big shindig tonight.”

  “You want to photograph our Titanic Tea?” said Drayton. He sounded almost horrified.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Glass “Why not? You guys got something against a little free publicity?”

  “I suppose not,” said Theodosia. She hadn’t figured on Glass trying to interject himself into the event. On the other hand, his presence, if she could keep a tight rein on him, might lend some excitement and media buzz, which was never a bad thing. “Okay, but don’t show up until at least five thirty, okay? Let us at least get our guests settled.”

  Glass grinned and made a cheesy thumbs-up gesture. “Five thirty. You got it.”

  When they’d finally closed the door on him and turned the latch firmly, Drayton said, “Do you think you can control him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Theodosia. “I wonder where I could buy a cattle prod.”

  “Very funny, but I still don’t see why you’re letting him attend our event.”

  “Because, like us, Glass has been nosing around about Webster’s death. And he might just stumble onto something.” She cocked an index finger at Drayton. “Hey, pal, you’re the one who wanted a shadow investigation.”

  “Yes,” said Drayton, “but I didn’t think the shadow would be Glass.”

  “Well, he’s what we’ve got. What we’re stuck with for now.”

  “Just so long as Glass doesn’t gum up the works,” said Drayton. He glanced at his perpetually slow-running watch, and said, “I’d say we’re just about set to go. With more than a little time to spare.”

  “Good,” said Theodosia, “because your nemesis, Glass, just gave me an idea.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  “I’m going to call Cecily and see if I can drop by her place.”

  “That’s fairly gutsy.”

  “Maybe so, but is it smart?”

  “I don’t know,” said Drayton. “Since she may or may not be a killer, the question is really up in the air.”

  • • •

  “Cecily,” Theodosia burbled into the phone, “I just wanted to call and wish you well. See how you’re feeling.”

  “How do you think I’m feeling?” Cecily shot back. “I’m terrible. I’m battered and bruised and . . .”

  “You know, I’d love to stop by for a quick visit,” Theodosia said, cutting her off mid-rant. “Drop off a small care package for you.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for company. I prefer to be left alone.”

  “I can understand that,” Theodosia said in her gentlest voice. “But I promise I won’t take hardly any time at all.”

  “Seriously, Theodosia? Do you have any idea how absolutely traumatized I am?”

  “I’ll see you in ten minutes,” said Theodosia, unwilling to take no for an answer.

  14

  For the third time in three days, Haley’s scones paved the way for Theodosia’s investigation (some might call it meddling).

  “I can’t believe you came by anyway,” Cecily said rather ungraciously as she opened the door to let Theodosia in. She lived in a small garden apartment that was part of a larger mansion on Legare Street. Her address was definitely upscale, but her entrance was down a crumbing brick path on the side of the home.

  Theodosia handed her a small wicker basket. “Cranberry scones and English breakfast tea, guaranteed to brighten your day and help take your mind off last night.”

  Cecily let loose a snort. “That’s fairly doubtful.” But she led Theodosia down a narrow hallway and into a small room that was pleasantly furnished with two floral love seats and a few potted palms. French doors led out to a small garden, and with the late October sun lasering down full force, all the foliage looked golden and sun-kissed.

  “How are you feeling?” Theodosia asked. She settled on one of the love seats while Cecily eased herself down on the one across from her.

  “I feel like I got hit by a two-ton truck, that’s how I feel. I keep gobbling aspirin and pain meds, and nothing seems to help.”

  “I’m sure a lot of your trauma is psychological, too,” said Theodosia.

  “No kidding, Sherlock. Have you ever been attacked by a maniac? Been run roughshod over and then hurled to the ground?” Cecily’s brows knit together as her voice erupted in anger. “No, I just bet you haven’t.”

  As a matter of fact, Theodosia had been attacked. She’d even been shot at. But this wasn’t the time or place to dredge that up. Instead she said, “And you’re sure it was a man who came after you?”

  “Absolutely,” said Cecily. “He was a big, strong brute who tackled me like he was some kind of football player—I’m lucky I didn’t break a few bones.” She massaged her shoulder gingerly. “My collarbone or even my ribs.”
/>   “Were you able to give a decent description to the police?”

  Cecily shrugged. “It was pitch-dark so I couldn’t see much of anything. I especially didn’t see his face.”

  So no description. Theodosia leaned forward. “What was your general impression of him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was he angry and out of control, or was he cool and calculating? Was he trying to really hurt you, or do you think he was just trying to scare you?”

  Cecily’s upper teeth worried her lower lip. “He was big and strong, that’s for sure. And you’re right, he did seem a little . . . I know this is going to sound strange . . . detached. Oh, and his breath smelled bad, like he’d been eating onions or garlic.”

  “Did you share this with the police?”

  “The police,” Cecily spat out. “They were perfectly horrible! They didn’t care about me in the least. What’s that stupid phrase? It’s like déjà vu all over again.”

  “You’re referring to their handling of the stabbing at the museum?”

  “Yes,” said Cecily. “I thought the police were bumbling incompetents then. Now they’re just . . . Well, it’s like they don’t give a crap what happened to me!”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case at all,” Theodosia said mildly. “I’m sure law enforcement is working hard to apprehend Edgar Webster’s killer and find whoever attacked you.”

  Theodosia was secretly pleased that Cecily had brought up Webster’s murder. It opened the door for a few more questions.

  “Do you think your attack is somehow related to Webster’s murder?” Theodosia asked.

  Cecily dropped her head in her hands, and said, “I don’t know. I really couldn’t say.”

  “Considering the two of you were, um, close, your encounter last night doesn’t exactly strike me as a coincidence.”

  “You know what?” said Cecily, giving her a baleful look. “I wish I’d never met Edgar Webster. Let alone gotten involved with him.”

  “Except you were involved with him.”